


Fall Frolic

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: Autumn, Caretaking, F/M, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, Mr. Darcy makes everything better, Pride and Prejudice References, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Rain, Romantic Fluff, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8576242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark and Bridget get caught in the rain.





	1. Rain

**Author's Note:**

> For my the rain prompt on my list that I [posted on tumblr](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/153244415007/autumn-prompt-list).

“Rainy autumn days are my favorite,” Bridget sighed as she stirred the cappuccino in front of her. Mark looked at her across the table as he warmed his hands on the mug of black coffee in front of him. He was thankful for the break from the office--it was always nice when Bridget surprised him at work and whisked him off to spend an hour with her. 

She showed up to Inns of Court, all bundled up in a coat and scarf, her cheeks flushed and grinning. Seeing the confusion on Mark’s face, she had said, “You mentioned when you left this morning that your meeting with Horacio was canceled, so I figured I'd stop by and see if you wanted to grab a coffee. You never get out of this office, so what could an hour hurt?”

Mark had smiled as he shook his head.  _ Leave it to Bridget to swindle the front desk into letting her by with no appointment.  _ Mark glanced out the window behind his desk--it was an overcast, gray day, which set the yellow and orange hue of the leaves on fire. “Bridget,” he had said, “it looks like it will rain any moment. Are you sure you want to stomp around London on a cold, wet day?”

Bridget had rolled her eyes at him, letting out a sigh. “Stop making excuses and grab your coat. We're getting coffee.” Unable to deny her, Mark had rolled his eyes and begrudgingly slid his black overcoat on over his suit. He grabbed his umbrella, just to be sure. 

“I need to be back by 11:00.”

“You'll be back by 11. Stop being such a stuffed shirt and let's go.”

Bridget had walked through the nearby park with her arm looped through Mark’s. He had stuffed his hands in his pockets, his collar turned up against the cold, but Bridget didn't seem affected by the wind whipping through the trees or the lack of sunshine on their backs. Oddly enough, she seemed to be enjoying the dreary day, clinging onto him as a smile lazily laid on her lips. 

“You enjoy days like this, don't you?” he had asked with a glance down at her. 

Bridget let out a little hum of appreciation. “They're just romantic...makes for a good excuse to cuddle up to someone.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was framed by the red scarf she had chosen that morning, and it made the blue of her eyes pop. 

Mark leaned down and gently kissed her on the lips. “You're a romantic sap, you know that?” he murmured with a smile. Bridget playfully pushed against him, slightly causing him to go off-balance. Mark grinned. 

“You're buying for that comment,” she sniffed. 

 

Once inside the cafe, the rain had started to pour. Mark secretly dreaded having to walk back to Inns of Court in the deluge, even if he  _ had  _ remembered his umbrella. It wasn't wide enough to comfortably fit them both underneath, which probably meant the whole back of his coat would be soaked before their return. As Bridget rambled on about how lovely the rain was, all he could think of was how cold and wet it would be. 

“Have you ever snogged someone in the rain?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink. 

Mark, having been lost in his own perpetual wheel of dismal what-ifs, looked at her with confusion on his face. “What was that?” he asked. 

“I asked if you've ever snogged someone in the rain. I'm talking a proper, need-you-now snog made for the movies.”  

“I can't say I have. Who would want to kiss in the rain? It's cold and wet and unpleasant. Snow, on the other hand…”

Bridget grinned at him. “Cheeky bastard,” she muttered. Pensively, she looked down at her cappuccino. “You've really never kissed someone in the rain?” 

Mark shook his head. “Never had a need or a want to. I much prefer dry kisses.”

“Interesting…” Bridget trailed off. They finished their drinks, enjoying the bustle of the patrons around them and the patter of the rain against the glass.

Mark slipped his hand into hers, rubbing the back of it with his thumb as he drank his coffee. He had to admit that the coziness of the cafe had definitely loosened the tension in his neck from the office. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. 

“I'm glad you kidnapped me,” he said. “Apparently I needed this more than I thought.”

Bridget smiled. “You know I know what's best for you. You'll kill yourself from stress by the time you're 50.”

Mark couldn't deny that. He simply shrugged with a sheepish look on his face. Glancing at his watch, he realized that they needed to get going. He drained his mug of coffee, and Bridget finished hers. “Mind if we get going?” he asked. 

Bridget shook her head as she stood up. “I have to get back to the office anyway.” They donned their coats and scarves, and Mark grabbed his umbrella. He pushed the door of the cafe open and opened the umbrella. He slipped an arm around Bridget and ushered her out in front of him, making sure to cover her before the rain hit. 

They walked arm in arm, Mark holding the umbrella over both of them. Bridget had once insisted on holding it, and he had to stoop the entire time, seeing that she was almost an entire foot shorter than him. He enjoyed the warmth of her arm around his, feeling her head leaned against his upper arm. He couldn’t stop looking down at her, his eyes fixated on her fringe of eyelashes and the roundness of her cheeks. He liked having this higher vantage point than most men--it made him feel like this was  _ his _ view of Bridget, a bird’s eye, intimate angle. 

“Oh, Mark, watch out!” Bridget suddenly shouted, yanking on his arm. He quickly jolted out of his reverie as a cyclist whizzed by them. He would have been completely knocked over by the man on the bike if Bridget hadn’t been paying attention. In the process of her pulling him to safety, the umbrella in his hand fell to the ground and the wind picked it up. Mark watched it skitter away as a sinking feeling filled his stomach.

“Fuck it all to hell,” he mumbled, watching the umbrella gain distance from them. The rain was now falling around them, soaking their hair and clinging to their coats. Mark looked down at Bridget, whose hand was up around her neck, clutching at her scarf. She had a panicked look on her face, and he could see her breathing shallowly. “Are you alright, Bridget?” he asked, taking her hand.

Bridget looked at him and said, “What? Oh, yes. I’m OK now. That bike just gave me a fright. I thought for sure you were going to get flattened.” He could see the discomfort on her face as she squinted through the raindrops.

“Darling, I’m fine,” Mark said. He leaned down to brush his lips reassuringly against hers. Bridget, however, kissed him back with much more force than he had anticipated. She pressed her mouth against his with fervor, clutching onto the lapels of his jacket, and he placed his hands on her hips to steady himself against the kiss. The rain continued to pour down on them, dribbling down Mark’s face and soaking his hair. 

He kissed her back, bringing a hand up to cup her jaw line that was now wet with raindrops. He could feel her breath against his cheek, labored and warm in the chill of the day. Unable to help himself, Mark nipped at her bottom lip, angling his chin to better accomodate their noses and chins. After a few moments of proper snogging, Bridget broke away from Mark to peck him softly a few more times. 

As she pulled back, Mark looked down at Bridget with a warmth in his eyes. Despite what he had said earlier, there  _ was _ something quite hot about kissing in the rain...even if it meant that he’d probably end up with a cough or worse for it. Bridget looked back up at him, a smirk playing on her lips. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently once more on the lips.

“Don’t scare me like that again.  _ I’m _ the one who usually comes close to misfortune, not you.”

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry. I was just distracted.”

“By what?”

“I was just...looking at you, I guess. At how pretty you look in the cold...your cheeks get rosy and you just look,  _ alive _ .”

Bridget smiled at him. “You’re a sap, Mark Darcy.”

Mark smiled back at her, looping his arm through hers so that they could get back to his office. “A sap I am. Especially now that I’ve kissed you in the rain. I’m on my way to becoming a rom-com heartthrob.”

Bridget threw her head back and laughed.

 

“Let’s not push it, Mr. Darcy.”

  
  
  



	2. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Bridget shared a kiss in the rain, and now they’re paying the price. They end up having to spend a sick day sitting side by side, both feeling miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "tea" prompt from [this list](http://hisreindeerjumper.tumblr.com/post/153244415007/autumn-prompt-list). Decided to take someone's advice and make it a sick!fic :)

“I feel bloody awful,” Mark said in a congested voice. Bridget gave him a sympathetic look from across the couch. She looked just about as bad as he felt. 

The day before, he and Bridget had been caught in the rain on their way back from the cafe. After a close call with a cyclist, Mark’s umbrella had escaped him and left the two of them standing in a downpour with no shelter. Frightened by the close call, Bridget had kissed Mark with far more passion and involvement than a peck, which caused them to stand in the deluge for far longer than Mark had ever intended to. 

Now they were paying the price. He had woken up in Bridget's bed that morning in a pool of his own saliva, his throat sore and scratchy from the snoring he had obviously engaged in throughout the night. Bridget laid across from him, her mouth wide open as a snore escaped her lips. Her blonde hair had been plastered to her cheek, and her fringe was essentially sticking straight up in the air. Despite how awful he felt, Mark couldn't help smiling at the sight of her. 

Once they had both woken up (more begrudgingly than Mark cared to admit), Mark decided that he felt too poorly to go into work, and Bridget had agreed. They opted instead to stay holed up in Bridget's flat for the day wearing comfy clothes and commiserating in their joint pile of used tissues while watching trashy television. They now sat on the couch, Mark sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table, his dressing gown loosely hanging open and the neck of his t-shirt stretched out from the constant reapplication of Vick’s vapor rub. Bridget sat next to him with her back against the arm of the couch, still in her pajama bottoms and cuddled up in one of Mark’s old jumpers that she had swiped one night from his home. Her feet were tucked underneath Mark for warmth, and she had a crumpled tissue in her hand. 

“I have to admit, the kiss was definitely good...but I'm not sure if it was worth feeling like shit,” Bridget said. Mark gave her a look across the couch. His nose was bright red from the constant blowing he had been doing, and he had bags under his eyes from exhaustion. Bridget looked equally as run down, with chapped lips and an incredibly messy ponytail piled on top of her head. 

“You mean to tell me it wasn't worth the romance and the passion?” Mark replied snarkily. He sniffled, dreading the thought of having to use a tissue on his raw nose.

Bridget gave him a look of compassion mixed with annoyance as she sighed. “You know, I could just find someone else to kiss passionately in the rain if you're not up to it. There's no need for me to sit around, waiting for you to throw yourself at me. There are plenty of romantic men in this city that would willingly kiss me, rain or no rain.”

Mark smiled and swiftly pushed himself up. He crossed the span of the couch, his one hand on the back of it and the other on the cushion next to Bridget's hip, and he leant in to place a gentle, electric kiss on her chapped lips. “Even when you look disgusting and are full of snot, _I_  want to be the one that kisses you,” he said, looking into her red-rimmed eyes and smiling. 

She smirked and pushed her hands against his chest. “You don't look so modelesque yourself,” she muttered. He continued grinning at her, his face only inches from hers, his hand now cupping the softness of her hip. “Oh, fine,” she said quietly, and leaned forward to kiss him again. 

As they exchanged a few quick kisses, the sound of the kettle from the kitchen began to build up until it was an ear piercing shriek. “Bugger,” Bridget said, breaking apart from Mark’s lips. “Let me go get that.” Mark sat back down on the couch to allow Bridget to stand. He couldn't help admiring the curve of her backside as she retreated to the kitchen, his jumper exposing just a smidge of smooth skin above her waistband.  _God love her,_  he thought smugly to himself as he sank back onto the couch. 

While Bridget clattered around in the kitchen, preparing their mugs of tea, Mark noisily blew his nose for the hundredth time. He hadn't felt this poorly in a long time, but he was secretly pleased that it forced him to spend the day with Bridget. He decided that if he was going to be laid up all day, the only person he'd want to be laid up with was her. Even if they were both germ-ridden and miserable, the feeling of her feet shoved underneath him (as uncomfortable as it may be) was a feeling he’d gladly take over sitting in his office all afternoon, wishing he was dead.

Bridget came back into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. She smiled at Mark and said, “One sugar, splash of milk, and a little honey, just the way you like it.” She placed it in his hands, and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

“Thank you, my darling,” Mark said, raising the mug to his lips. The tea was warm, just on the verge of hot, which surprised him based on the severity of the kettle’s whistle. He took a gulp of it and felt immediate relief as it washed down his sore throat. “Mmm, this is perfect, Bridget.”

Bridget smirked at him over her mug. “I put an ice cube in it, too. No need to be dying of cold  _and_  have a scalded tongue.” 

Mark smiled at her appreciatively as he took another sip. It was immensely comforting as the steam rose up from the mug, bringing relief to his sinuses. He gave a gentle hum of appreciation. Suddenly, he felt Bridget burrow her feet underneath his bottom again, and throw a blanket over her legs. He gave he a sideways glance and smiled in spite of himself. She had the blanket pulled all the way up to her chin, her hands wrapped in it with the mug of tea precariously balanced between them on top of her knee.

“Alright, Bridget?” he asked.

Bridget glanced at him over her mug. “S’alright, I suppose. Just freezing a bit.”

Mark wrinkled his nose at her sympathetically. He took another sip of his tea, grateful for the soothingness of it. Bridget gently brought her own mug to her lips, her blanketed hands looped through the handle of the mug and cupping it from underneath. “You’re going to end up spilling that down the front of you,” Mark said, placing his own mug in his lap.

“No, I won’t. I’ve done this a million times and never have dropped it once.”

“If you say so,” Mark said, giving her a smirk and busying himself with his tea again. 

He could hear Bridget take a few more noisy slurps, which were suddenly punctuated with a rather loud, exasperated, “Fucking hell!” Mark looked over at her to find that the mug had indeed slipped out of her hands, dribbling tea down the front of the blanket. 

“I bet you’re thankful for that ice cube now,” he said with a smirk. Bridget shot daggers at him across the couch.

“Bugger off,” she said, throwing the wet blanket off of her and standing up. “Now I’m going to be especially freezing, now that I don’t have a blanket  _or_  a mug of tea.” She stalked off into the kitchen to dump the empty mug in the sink, and then disappeared into her bedroom. Mark couldn’t help but feel for her--there’s nothing worse than feeling awful and then have a string of misfortunes pressed against you. 

As he heard Bridget clamoring around inside of her room, Mark made the executive decision to brighten her day a bit. He rummaged around on her bookcase, flipping through all of her romantic comedies and self-help novels until he stumbled upon the DVD box he was looking for. He smiled as he looked down at the cover of it, knowing that this was  _exactly_  what Bridget needed. He was even willing to sacrifice his sanity to watch it with her for the umpteenth time.

Bridget still hadn’t emerged as the DVD menu played, the music from it on a maddening loop. Mark made Bridget a new mug of tea--one spoonful of sugar, a splash of milk, some honey and an ice cube--and brought it back to the coffee table, just as Bridget emerged from the bedroom. She wa completely wrapped up in her duvet, literally from head to toe, and she was dragging it behind her like a hooded cape. She let out a pitiful sniffle as she shuffled her way back to the couch.

“Quite the look,” Mark said, smiling.

“Keep it up, Mark Darcy. You won’t see an ounce of this blanket...and it’s quite cozy.”

“I made you a new mug of tea,” Mark replied as Bridget flopped on the couch next to him. “I also thought you’d like to watch  _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” he continued, nodding toward the DVD menu on the television.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bridget’s face light up as she dragged the duvet off of her head. “Ohhhh, goody!” she exclaimed, leaning herself against him and pinning his arm against his torso. He wiggled it free and placed his arm around her. Bridget looked down at his body and knit her brows together. “I suppose I could share the duvet with your, for being such a wonderfully thoughtful boyfriend,” she said, wiggling her body around to pull the duvet out from underneath her. She threw it over his body, leaving enough for herself to snuggle under, and Mark couldn’t help but appreciate how warm it was from her body.

Bridget settled her head against his chest, draping her arm across his stomach as he laced an arm around her body. She let out a stifled sneeze against him, followed by a groan, and buried her face in his shirt. “Thank god for Mr. Darcy,” she muttered into his chest as he placed a kiss on the top of her head. 

Unable to help himself, Mark said, “Hmm, which one?”

Bridget’s head popped up and she looked at him. “ My Mr. Darcy,” she replied, scanning his face.

“Even if he’s full of snot and feels miserable?”

“Even if he’s full of snot and feels miserable.”

Mark leaned in as the introduction rolled on the TV and kissed Bridget. Despite germs and snot and all things gross, he kissed her with fervor, and she reciprocated. He brought a hand up to cup her jaw line, running his thumb along the soft line of her cheek, and she tightened her grip around his torso. The kiss was just beginning to build, Mark unable to keep his hands from roaming, when he suddenly pulled back and threw an arm across his face as a loud, aggressive sneeze erupted from him.

Pulling back, Bridget smirked at him. Mark slowly opened one eye at a time, keeping his arm across his mouth and nose. “Bloody hell,” he said in a muffled voice. “Can you pass me a tissue?” Bridget leaned over him to reach the box on the side table, and plucked a tissue out with dramatics. She handed it to him, and he gratefully took it from her. Mark begrudgingly blew his nose, grimacing at the feeling of it against the rawness of his skin. Once finished, he leaned his head on the back of the couch with a groan. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Bridget placed both hands on the sides of his face, and Mark startled at her touch. She gently pulled his face towards her and placed a barely there kiss on the tip of his nose. “Poor snotty darling,” she whispered, touching her forehead to his. “I say we just stick to fictional Mr. Darcy for now...we’ll have plenty of time to pick up where we left off once we’re feeling up to it.” 

She placed another featherlight kiss against his forehead, and Mark felt the emotion catch in his throat. He put his arms around her waist as she continued to pepper his brow and nose with comforting, soft kisses, relishing the warmth and weight of her in his arms as the minuet from the television played in the background. She placed one more kiss against his forehead, holding it for a second before pulling back and smiling at him. 

“Now...don’t talk. I don’t want to miss anything.”

Mark grinned at her, not even bothering to mention that she knew every word by heart. Instead, he readily welcomed her back under his arm, allowing the pad of his thumb to gently caress the soft skin underneath the jumper she was wearing. 

While Bridget rapturously watched Colin Firth on the screen, Mark thankfully sipped the cup of tea in his hand while thinking about how much better this was than sitting at the office...snot or no snot.


End file.
